To Be Your Friend
by Benedict's Our Division
Summary: For once, Anderson's taunting pushes someone over the edge, and it isn't Sherlock.


Just a quick one-shot!

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To be Yours Friend

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Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were, once again, helping the Scotland Yard solve a mystery. They were in an apartment building, on the 4th floor, inspecting the body of a Mr. Nicholas Greene. He had been found on his bed, his head on his pillow, the rest of him covered by a duvet.

"Do you have anything?" Lestrade asked. "I'm really only supposed to give you 5 minutes. You have 2 left." Sherlock scoffed.

"When don't I have anything, Detective Inspector? He was obviously strangled by his girlfriend."

"Brilliant, Sherlock!" John never missed an oppurtunity to praise Sherlock like that. Someone needed to make Sherlock think the gift so many other people hated was actually good.

"How do you know that, though?" Lestrade pressed on. "We can't arrest someone without enough evid-"

"Well then, here's your evidence. Look at the marks on his neck. They're hand prints. So, he was strangled. They're relatively small, so, a woman. If you look on the kitchen table, you'll see two glasses of wine; Looking at the cupboard, it's his only bottle. An expensive brand. He wouldn't waste his best- and only- wine on someone who wasn't important, so his wife. There's also lipstick on both glasses; However, there's barely any on the one on the right. What we learn from that is that he was kissed on the lips multiple times by the woman who drank from the glass on the left. So, a lover. Look on his finger- He's wearing a ring. Why would he wear the ring for a lover? That would tell her that he's married. So, obviously, his wife. If it's his wife, which it is, she would have picked up the wine glasses before leaving. Which means that she was in a hurry. Why would she be in such a hurry? There could be multiple reasons, but the likeliest one is that she wanted to leave before the cops arrived. If you check the closets, you will find some of her clothes missing and no suitcases whatsoever in the entire flat, because he never traveled and she took her own." Sherlock looked around the room one last time before giving his head a slight shake. "Really, D.I. Lestrade, not even a 5. I don't know why I left the flat." He waved his hand to get John's attention. "Come along, John. You must be starved."

The duo left the building, trying to decide where to eat dinner. Maybe Ange-

"Hey, Freak!" An all too familiar voice called out. Sherlock sighed.

"Evening, Anderson." He said with a slight bow of the head. He continued walking away, but Anderson grabbed his elbow, preventing him from moving. Sherlock sighed again before turning around.

"Look, Freak, I've had to put on gloves just to touch you! I wouldn't want your freakiness to catch on." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Of course not, Anderson, you're much too daft to know that intelligence isn't contagious. However, stupidity is, so would you mind letting go of me?" Anderson smirked.

"I don't know why Lestrade speaks so highly of you. Your own brother doesn't even like you! I'll bet you were the mistake child that your parents didn't even want. Did your mum and dad ignore you? Is that why you're the way you are? A fr-" Suddenly, out of nowhere, a very angry looking John appeared.

"Don't talk about Sherlock like that!" John exclaimed. "You have no right! Sherlock is brilliant, and all you are is an annoying git!" Anderson ignored John, who's hands were balled into fists at his side, and continued to insult Sherlock.

"Why do you even hang around with him, anyway? Isn't he just so arrogant? Don't you ever want to strangle him? He'll probably poison you just to see how long it would take for you to-OW!" John's fist suddenly made contact with Anderson's face, hitting him square in the nose. The blow knocked Anderson to the ground, and as he staggered back to his feet, his nose began dripping with blood.

"Oh, no!" Sherlock exclaimed mockingly, "Anderson, quickly, go away! Your nose is bleeding!" Sherlock and John looked at each other, then chorused the next line together.

"You'll contaminate the crime scene!" The two burst into laughter, nearly rolling on the ground.

Anderson turned around to face his fellow yarders., expecting support from them. However, he couldn't have been more wrong. Each and every one of them had their backs turned, facing any direction except for Anderson's.

"Didn't anyone see that?!" He exclaimed. Lestrade, along with a few others, turned around.

"See what, Anderson?" Sudden;y, his eyes went dramatically big. "Oh my, Anderson! Your nose is bleeding! What happened, mate?" It was easy to see Lestrade was acting, even to Anderson.

"The freak's 'colleague' punched me!" Anderson exclaimed.

"Well, their are no witnesses..." Lestrade said mockingly, turning and walking away.

Meanwhile, Sherlock and John had literally picked themselves up off the ground. They had (Mostly) managed to compose themselves, and now Sherlock realized what he had to do.

Ah, sentiment. Manners. Politeness. Boring. Overrated. Dull.

"Um, John, that thing...that you didn't (Here he gestured to all the yarders and winked) do for me, that was...thank you." He blushed slightly, scuffing at the ground with his shoe.

"No problem, Sherlock. It's what I'm here for."

"To be my bodyguard?" Sherlock asked quizzically. John laughed and lightly socked him on the arm.

"No, to be your friend." And with that, the Baker Street duo walked arm in arm down the street. Only one sound could be heard from them as they reached the flat.

"But really, John, did you see his face?!" The sounds of their laughter could be heard for houses down.


End file.
